Pretend
by tiltingaxis
Summary: Pretend.Pretendpretendpretend.That's all he's been doing. He's good at that. Season 2, post break-up.


**A/N: Basically this story is an old one shot that I thought had been lost. I recently found a few pieces of it on my computer, added new lost scenes, and decided to post it again. Written during the second half of season two when Finchel were still miserable, hence all the angst.**

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><p>"Finn." He turns at the sharp phrase of his name to find Quinn glaring dangerously at him. "Grip that cup any harder and you're going to get beer all over yourself."<p>

"What are you talking about?" he asks, trying to play it cool as he automatically relaxes his grip on the red cup in his hand.

"Stop looking at her," she tells him, her voice low as she pretends to smile.

"Where the hell is Sam?" he whispers back, his voice strained as her laughter distracts him again. He's been watching her all night –_looking out_, he reminds himself-, ever since she'd stumbled in through the door, wide-eyed and wondering, her hand looped through Sam's.

"He brought her here, so he should be looking out for her."

"She _doesn't_ need a babysitter Finn. He's having fun, just like you should be. With _me_," Quinn says, voice sugary sweet as she curls her fingers around one arm, gripping just a little too tightly. It's a warning. _Get a grip_. He turns and forces an easy smile, prying his arm from her grip and throwing it carelessly over her shoulder to pull her in closer.

"You're right," he says, leaning in closer with a grin on his face. She continues smiling, the strain around her eyes relaxing. The sound of shrill, hysterical laughter breaks the moments as he snaps his head back towards the middle of the room.

He frowns, straightening up completely, ignoring the hand on his arm as he locks his gaze firmly on the girl in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. The cup she had been holding has been tipped completely to the side as she laughs and leans against a new boy. He narrows his eyes as he realizes that it's Scott Fetterman, junior._Linebacker_, he notes. _Second string_. She's looking up at the guy, batting her eyelashes rapidly because she's _completely_ wasted. He grits his teeth as Scott puts an arm around her shoulders and leans down to whisper something in her ear.

_That's it._

"Where do you think you're going?" Quinn asks sharply as he takes a step forward. He blinks in confusion, momentarily forgetting the blonde by his side.

"Someone needs to take her home."

"_You're_ not that someone."

"She's going to get in trouble," he answers curtly, hands clenched in fists as her giggles reach his ears. She's dancing up against his teammate, and Scott looks like he's enjoying it just a little _too_ much.

"Sam can take care of her,"

"Like he's been doing all night?"

"Leave her alone Finn."

"_I can't_!"

He didn't mean to yell. It's a good thing the music drowned out his voice, so nobody notices the way Quinn's eyes widened just a little. Under control. She's always under control. He sees the conflict in her eyes, the way her brain is turning at full speed, before she looks up at him again and smiles, running a finger down his chest.

"I know you're worried about your _friend,_ Finn. But Rachel will be fine. C'mon," she whispers, leaning up, pushing her chest up against his to whisper in his ear. "I hear the guest room's empty,"

They're good at that, him and Quinn. They're good at pretending. He's good at pretending the glint in her eye every time they walk past a poster for prom is just his imagination, good at pretending not to notice the way her jaw clenched two hours earlier when Sam walked through Santana's front door with Rachel.

And she's good at pretending that the way his eyes are constantly, magnetically glued to Rachel Berry is just his way of staring off into space.

They're good at pretending.

"Sounds awesome Quinn," he tells her brightly. "Let me just go find Sam and tell him to take Rachel home."

"Finn-"

"She's my friend. I'm just looking out for her."

Their gazes hold for a few seconds as he waits for her to say something. She nods.

Let's just continue pretending.

"You have half an hour," she tells him sweetly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. The scorching burn he feels against his skin gets more and more unbearable the more she does that.

"The prom king needs to show his courtesy, right?" he jokes as he releases himself from her grip. Rachel's still grinning up at Scott Fetterman, her face flushed and bright. He frowns and walks forwards.

He doesn't look back.

He walks purposefully towards her, and when Fetterman catches his eye, he shoots the dude an easy smile.

"Fetterman," he calls out, a little too boisterously as he comes up towards the boy and slaps him a little too hard on the back.

"Hey Hudson," Scott answers, smiling at him before he turns his attention back towards Rachel. Finn frowns when she's still oblivious to his presence.

"Hey Rachel," he says. She turns, and when she sees him, her grin turns into a beam.

"Finny!" she slurs out happily, and his hand reaches out to hold her steady as she teeters slightly on the spot.

"You okay?"

"Oh _definitely_. Steve here-"

"Scott," the boy corrects her, as he tries to hold back his smirk.

"Right, sorry. Scooter says he'll teach me how to play beer pong. Isn't that _great_?"

She stares up at him like that's the best idea she's ever heard in her life, and he can almost smile at the way her unfocused eyes shine.

"Sounds awesome, but don't you think you should be getting home now?"

"But _why_?" she pouts. "This party is _awesome_."

"Yeah, but-"

"I wanna stay!"

"Rachel-"

"She wants to stay dude. She's old enough to make her own decisions, isn't she?"

It takes everything in him not to sock the guy in the face right this very moment as he tries to ignore Scott Fetterman's existence.

"It's like almost midnight," he tells her instead. "Remember you told me that we should never go to bed after twelve, because it's like bad for our growth or something? Plus you're like, totally not gonna get enough of your beauty sleep, and you know you don't want that."

Her eyes widen almost comically.

"Midnight?" she gasps, looking around her wildly. "Where's Sam? He needs to take me home."

"Uh, he asked me to take to you home," he lies quickly. "He's had a little too much to drink, and like, he doesn't wanna drive."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he answers, grabbing her wrist. "So like, we should totally bounce, you don't wanna lose anymore of your sleep."

"But Scooter-"

"Scott."

"Was about to teach me beer ping pong," she says stubbornly, refusing to budge. He sighs, turning around to face the junior currently frowning at him.

"You're busy," he says, "Aren't you?"

He stares Scott down, having a good three inches over the other boy as his fingers wrap possessively around her wrist, teeth clenching. He knows he'll win. Because if anything, Fetterman would know better than to mess with the quarterback.

"Yeah," Scott finally says as he turns to look at Rachel. "Kegger run."

"Oh," she says, confused. "Okay. It was nice meeting you Steve."

"Scott," he hears Fetterman mutter as he immediately turns around, dragging her towards the exit. He barely feels her pulling against him as he weaves through the crowd and out the door.

"Finn Hudson!" she screeches, attempting to pull his hand away while he rolls his eyes. "Unhand me this instance! I am not your prop- prop- I am not your thingy that you can just drag around like a- nean- like a nean-"

"Neanderthal," he supplies helpfully, ignoring the way a few kids are starting to look at them, squabbling out in the front lawn. Well, _she's_ squabbling. He's just trying to get her to stay upright.

"Yes. _That_. Stop manhandling me."

"Jesus, Rachel," he hisses, annoyed. "I am not manhandling you."

"You're hurting me."

He stops abruptly at her quiet words, looking down to see that he has a death grip on her wrist. He releases her hand almost immediately.

"Sorry," he mutters. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. What the hell is wrong with him tonight? He frowns when she walks away from him.

"Where are you going?"

"_Duh_ Finn. _We're_ going to get in your tuck."

He chuckles, amused when she rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.

"You don't even know where it is," he says almost fondly. She turns around to face him, her expression insulted.

"I do too. I _saw_ you coming with Quinn and forced Sam to hide with me so we wouldn't run into you."

"You did?" he asks quietly.

"_Yes_. So come _on_."

She turns in a huff and he follows quietly behind her, careful to watch out for any obstacles along the way. She walks into everything when she's drunk.

"Rachel."

"_What_ Finn?" she asks, exasperated.

"You're going the wrong way."

"Oh."

She leans against him as they reach his car and he manoeuvres the passenger seat as far back as it could go before helping her get in. She smiles up at him as he buckles her seatbelt and he inexplicably thinks of that one time when he had waited for her to finish ballet. He'd dozed off in his mom's car and woke up to her phone call as she complained like a bullet train about how exhausting class was that day. He could see her from a mile away, grinning at the way her mouth moved rapidly against the phone, in time with her rants. He had clambered out of the car and walked up to her, smiling as he offered her a piggyback ride. She had blushed furiously as he easily carried her to the car, and he remembers the smile she gave him as he set her down. "_You're so chivalrous_," she had said as she leaned up to kiss him.

"Thanks." Her soft whisper pulls him out of his thoughts and he clears his throat as he backs away, forcing his heart to stay in place as he walks quickly to the driver's side. Get a grip. He needs to get a grip. It's not like it was before anymore. As if to prove his conviction, his phone beeps to alert him about the text that he knows is from Quinn. He ignores it, and chooses to start the engine instead.

The ride to her house is quiet. It's only a fifteen minute drive. Ten left. He turns slightly to look at her and she's laying on her side. He thinks that she's asleep. He turns on the radio, careful enough to turn the volume down so that it won't disturb her.

Steve Perry croons about coming back to someone with open arms, and his thoughts are scattered all over the place. He wonders vaguely if Quinn's still waiting in that guest room. He's trying not to think about the girl beside him, the girl he really has no business thinking about in the first place.

"You don't need look after me." Her voice startles him and he turns to find her still faced towards the window. "You really don't."

She sounds groggy, but her words are sober. He sighs, turning down the volume on Journey completely.

"Rachel-"

"That's not what I need. What I need-" she hiccups and turns to face him, and the look on her face is unreadable in the dim light. "What I _need_, is to forget you."

He ignores the clench of his heart, clenching the steering wheel with his hands instead.

"What I _need_, is to get over you. Like you got over me. Right?"

He says nothing, and the silence that hangs in the air is heavy. Right. She's right. That's what she needs. Except, he's not all that over her, is he?

Pretend.

_Pretendpretendpretend_.

That's all he's been doing. He's good at that.

She sighs loudly, and the sound pierces through the silence, pierces right through his heart.

"But I can't," she says sadly. "I can't do either of that."

"Rachel-"

"How did you do it?"

"What?"

"How did you forget me so easily?"

He can't do this. He. _Can't._ _Do_. This.

"I pretend," he whispers, the words coming out of him involuntarily. He wonders if she could even hear them.

"I'm not very good at doing that," she says dejectedly, crinkling her nose. He chuckles.

"No," he agrees. "You're not good at that at all."

"I just miss you so _much_ Finn," she tells him, straightening up and frowning as the seatbelt restrains her. "Do you miss me?"

He doesn't answer as he rounds the corner, his gaze settling on the white house at the end of the road. He's passed through this place countless of times, memorized every single route that takes him to that white house with light green shutters ("It's called Apple green," she told him once), and after their break up, sometimes all he does is just drive by, eyes determinedly focused on the road before him, and not on the window on the right.

(He doesn't admit to himself that sometimes he looks up from the corner of his eye, or that his heart skips a beat every time he finds the light on. It won't do anyone any good to know that anyway.)

"We're here," he tells her softly as he pulls up in front of her driveway. She's silent, and he turns towards her, smiling ruefully at the sight before him. Somewhere within the span of three minutes she had fallen asleep, her body leaning uncomfortably towards him, head resting on the strap of the seatbelt.

"Rachel," he whispers softly. She frowns, her brows creasing together, and he wants just a moment.

He wants just one moment where he can stop pretending.

Tentatively, he reaches out a hand to touch her, his fingers softly grazing the bangs on her forehead as he smooths out the crease. She sighs, leaning closer towards him and his fingers freeze as he holds his breath.

She doesn't open her eyes.

He releases a slow, even breath. His fingers trail down the side of her face, grazing her cheek to cup her jaw. She still feels as soft as he remembers.

He lets his hand fall, resting on the gear shift.

"Rachel," he calls out softly. "Ba- Rachel, wake up."

Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at him drowsily.

"Finn?"

"You're home Rachel."

She frowns as he unbuckles her seatbelt.

"Did you answer my question?"

He leans forward, his hand brushing against the fabric of her jacket as he does, to open her door.

"It's late Rachel. You should go in."

"But-"

"I'll see you at school, 'kay? You're kinda drunk. You should sleep it off."

"'Kay."

"Careful," he calls out when she stumbles out of his truck, disoriented.

"I'm fine," she tells him as she turns towards him, leaning against the door for support. "Thank you for sending me home."

"No problem."

"Good night Finn."

"Night Rach."

Her eyes widen, and he shoots her a perplexed smile as she starts to beam, eyes still slightly unfocused.

"You called me Rach," she says softly.

"I- I did?" he asks, grabbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"I missed that. I'll see you at school Finn," she says while he stays silent, a little too surprised to respond. Closing the door quietly behind her, he watches as she makes her way up the steps to her door, her walk a little unsteady, but she keeps herself upright.

His phone vibrates again, and he fishes it out of his pocket.

It's Quinn.

_Come up straight to the guest room when you get back. I'm waiting._

He stays until he sees the light coming out from the window on the right, before he shifts the gear back into reverse.

Let's go back to pretending.

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews or 're-reviews' are highly encouraged LOL**


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